You will always be three and a half decades wiser and kinder than I am. I hope you feel reassured by this — that I will always look up to you and listen to you and be your number 4 fan (Papa, Kuya, and Ate own the first three spots).
In a few years, I will have reached the same age as when you gave birth to me. With both gentleness and disbelief, you share with us your amazement that by my current age, you’re already married to Papa and anticipating Kuya’s arrival. I have no problem with this. I know you so well — while you all want us to discover our vocations ASAP, you’re also reluctant to see your children leave the nest one by one.
Everyone I know who knows you — from Church, community, and work — attests to your kindness, jolly nature, and care. I have not found anyone on this planet who can hold a candle to your magnanimity. You consider everyone your children, sibling, neighbor, and family. While your whole family (except Kuya and Ate Donna) would often make fun of your unique features — a built-in clock that’s always set to GMT+12 even when Manila time is GMT+8, assigning random acquaintances alliterate names, and magically turning every day and every family trip a production number, we are relentless in admitting that we can only dream of having a heart like yours.
There are moments when memories from childhood would surface very nonchalantly in a period of reflection. I remember how you would place your hand on my forehead before I sleep and whisper, “Dear Jesus.” This baffled me as a child — a lot. And after several newscasts and conversations with grown-ups, I began to understand why this seemed to work for you. Just a few months ago, this memory had become instructive. I have learned to say this prayer, too.
There was one conversation we had when you told me that one of my godmothers should learn from my faith. You said my godmother had let fear get the better of her, and that it would help her if she believed in God like I did — if she believes as I do.
Mama, I am still coming to terms with fear. In fact, I am having a hard time at the moment because of the storms that hit our family the past year. You said that when people pass on, the ones who survive them learn to heal — eventually. I honestly had no idea how this was possible, but because I’ve seen how strong of a woman you are, I believed. I have no excuse to revert to fear or despair because I am loved and cared for by a woman like you and a man like Papa (of course my siblings would not like that they are not mentioned somehow).
You see, Mama I took it upon myself to map out every possible moment of sorrow in your life. I was astonished by how you made it look so easy for us — how with Papa’s good humor and your top-grade negotiation skills, life looked so much better than it was. How with every moment of what seemed like sheer happiness, sorrow lingered, but you always managed to keep it together.
So this is next on my list of things to learn. Thank you, Mama, for being the best mama in my world. You’re somehow at an advantage because you have so many children rooting for you — kids you and Papa raised at home and in the community.
Whenever I talk to God and Mama Mary, I always ask them to take care of you and Papa (and then I go over the list of my siblings’ names and the special people in our lives). I am so proud that you raised me, and continue to revel in the Lord’s goodness for sending me a Mama like you. Whether I face a crowd of twenty or two thousand, I always draw strength from the fact that my mama is praying for me. Your love is strong, Mama. You are strong because God loves you so much. And we do, too. Please always remember that.
Love,
Mylene Kaye
P.S. See you later this week. Prepare to get extra cuddles from your feeling-bunso. :)
